CHAPTER 73: GREY SEA

After some tense coordination and a few near-death trial runs, Lucy and Llarm finally lifted the entire team into the sky and began their flight toward Caelgorr’s island.

Llarm flew just to Lucy’s left, carrying Gindu and Eri with practiced ease. His golden hair whipped behind him, a streak of sunlight slashing through the storm.

Lucy, slightly lower on the right, bore the weight of Bruma, Fenric, and Carlos. The pup was tucked against Fenric’s chest, ears pinned flat from the gale.

The two wind-wielders flew in a careful offset—staggered just enough to avoid disrupting each other’s currents. They looked like seasoned fliers. Which, of course, was a lie. One of them had only figured out how to fly this morning.

And yet, up they went.

The fog rose with them, thick and hungry, wrapping around the team like a second sky. Silver coils churned and twisted above the sea, refusing to be left behind.

Below them, the ocean wasn’t moving. It wasn’t even pretending to be alive. It stretched out like a dead mirror, perfectly flat, its grey surface looking more like the skin of a long-buried god than water. It was staring. It was waiting.

The wind howled around them, cold as grave soil, sharp as knives. It tore at cloaks, seeped into boots, and turned every breath into a fight. Salt stung Lucy’s eyes. His lungs burned. Still, he flew.

Above, the sun punched through breaks in the cloud, splattering the sky with streaks of golden fire and royal violet. Light carved jagged lines through the mist like divine brushstrokes from some broken deity.

Lucy’s vision blurred, but he pushed forward—his soulthread sweeping for danger, his gut trusting Carlos’s sharp nose to catch anything his senses missed.

And yet, below... something was calling.

Not a voice. Not words.

A pull.

It coiled in the marrow of his bones. Tugged at the roots of his teeth. The sea was beckoning—silent and patient, not inviting.

Demanding.

He couldn’t shake the certainty that he’d touch it soon. And not by choice.

"Damn it," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Why the hell would you think that now?"

His black hair snapped like a torn flag in the wind. He twisted his head to shout toward Llarm, who hovered just out of reach in the mist, steady and golden, like a lighthouse in the dark.

"Hey! Llarm! Be careful! Caelgorr can mess with your head—illusion magic! I’ll warn you if something real’s coming!"

Llarm lifted a hand in response, thumb raised—a quick, silent signal.

Good, that was enough.

The wind rose in pitch.

They were getting close.

And then Lucy saw something ahead. Something wrong.

However, his soul thread pulsed with silence.

No emotion.

No presence.

Which could only mean one thing.

"An illusion," he muttered, lip curling. "What are you showing me now, you bastard?"

The fog churned like water circling a drain. It twisted, thickened, collapsed inward, and began to take shape.

And there it was.

Caelgorr.

A towering, many-limbed abomination, stitched from shadow and suffocating mist. Its form constantly shifted between smoke and substance, too fluid to be real, too detailed not to be. Pitch black from horn to claw, its silhouette pulsed with roiling fog, limbs warping in and out of existence like a bad memory refusing to die.

Lidless eyes—dozens of them—flickered open across its body. Pale white and glowing, each one unblinking, watching, judging.

From its skull jutted antler-like horns, curling outward like the twisted branches of a dead forest. Fog dripped from them in slow, heavy trails, sizzling in the air like acid.

Its face... if you could call it that, split open in jagged lines of unraveling smoke. Like something had carved it from nightmares and forgot to finish.

Lucy glared at it, hatred coiling in his chest like a second heart.

"You’re one ugly thing," he said flatly.

The monster didn’t respond. Just stared.

Then it moved.

Its entire body unraveled, fog and flesh melting together in a blur of movement, reappearing instantly before Llarm.

Caelgorr turned its horror-show face toward Lucy. And smiled.

Or at least, it did something like a smile. Twisted and wrong, a parody of amusement carved into living smoke.

Then it struck.

Limbs lashed out—long, jagged, black as void—ripping into Llarm with nightmarish speed. Blood exploded into the mist, a red blossom in a silver sea. Llarm screamed once, sharp and broken, then went limp.

His body dangled for a second, then vanished into the fog below.

Lucy flinched. Seeing his best friend being dismantled in front of him shook him, even though he knew it was an illusion.

But Caelgorr wasn’t done.

It reappeared before Gindu.

No hesitation. No mercy.

One of its limb-spears—thick and riddled with watching eyes—drove clean through the dragonkin’s chest, piercing scale and armor like paper. Gindu didn’t even make a sound before his body dropped, swallowed by the grey void below.

Lucy’s jaw clenched. Hard.

Even if it was fake, it still hurt to see.

Anger flared. Hot and sharp.

This wasn’t the first time today Caelgorr had forced him to relive something he shouldn’t. He’d already been made to watch his mother die again. And now?

Now his friends?

’I’m going to rip you apart by your fucking intestines,’ Lucy thought. ’I’ll make sure you feel every second of it.’

Caelgorr turned to Eri.

Paused.

Then—suddenly—it was in front of Lucy.

Close.

Too close.

The fog coiled around its body, cloaking the towering form in writhing darkness. Its many eyes blinked, its limbs twitched, and it moved with the calm of something that had already won.

Lucy sneered.

"Oh, what’s wrong?" he spat. "Scared of Nyxaris, you big baby?"

Caelgorr roared.

The sound split the air like a thunderclap from the abyss. It wasn’t just sound—it shook Lucy’s bones. A storm of black mist erupted from the monster’s cracked-open face, streaming straight into Lucy’s lungs.

Cold.

Burning.

Alive.

Then, in one motion—so smooth it almost looked lazy—Caelgorr slashed through Bruma, Carlos, and Fenric.

Their heads fell.

Their bodies dropped into the mist.

Gone.

Lucy’s hands twitched toward them—too slow, too late. His body didn’t care that it was a lie. Grief wasn’t logical.

Lucy gasped—rage surging in his veins like fire.

Atomic Radiation.

Crucible of Grace.

He activated both.

Pain exploded through him. A dozen knives stabbing every nerve in his body. His vision blurred, his muscles spasmed—but he didn’t stop.

Didn’t scream.

Didn’t give Caelgorr the satisfaction.

He kept flying.

Even though the team was dead behind an illusion, he could feel them. Their emotions flared in his soul thread—fear, panic, dread.

All of them, except Eri, who had no emotion.

’He’s showing them illusions, too...’ Lucy realized, chest heaving.

Then, one by one, his teammates began to reappear.

The radiation burned the fog away, purging the hallucinations from his vision. The world sharpened—just slightly.

Carlos. Fenric. Bruma.

They were alive. Still here.

They looked shaken, eyes wide, wincing slightly, but alive.

The fog around them thickened again. He couldn’t see Llarm or the others anymore. But he could still feel them. They weren’t far.

’Closer... we’re getting closer.’

Then came the scream.

Raw and piercing.

It belonged to Llarm.

And with it, a jolt of panic so strong it shattered the air current beneath them.

Lucy’s wind stuttered, making them dip.

"No—damn it, Llarm!"

He shouted over the howling wind.

"It’s an illusion—snap out of it!"

But Llarm wasn’t listening. He wasn’t there. His magic flailed wildly, colliding with Lucy’s, throwing everything into chaos.

And then Control slipped.

Gone.

Bruma, Fenric, Carlos—all of them dropped out of his hold.

And Lucy fell too.

Down they plunged—cutting through the fog like stones flung from the sky—spiraling toward the still, grey surface of the sea.

And the sea?

It opened its arms.

Waiting.